


In Measured Doses (Take Your Time)

by turnyourankle



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-17
Updated: 2007-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick go camping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Measured Doses (Take Your Time)

Patrick thinks he'll be okay until he trips, sneaker suddenly stuck between a rock and some sort of branch. Or at least that's what it feels like; he can't really see where his foot is stuck -- or anything, really -- it's getting late, and dark, and he lost his glasses ten minutes ago. Everything's just blending together in a mesh of brown and green and black. He jerks his leg, but it's still stuck in muddy water. His sock quickly goes from moist to really fucking wet, and his skin is beginning to prickle from the cold.   
  
He thinks he'll be alright until then. At which point his thought process goes something like: "Shitfuckshitfuck, my fucking  _shoe_ ," and then, "Pete really is trying to kill me, oh my  _God_ , I'm too young to be found in some lake in the middle of nowhere."  
  
Perhaps going out camping with a someone you'd only known for a few weeks wasn't that great of an idea. Especially not when they'd referred to the outing as a bonding opportunity, and couldn't even say that with a straight face. And fuck, Patrick had told his mom he was staying at Joe's the entire weekend and Joe had promised to cover for him. No one would know he was missing for a few days. "This is what I get for not being a scout," he mumbles as he jerks his foot again.   
  
Leaves crinkle somewhere in front of him, and Patrick can hear his name being called in Pete's voice, all excited.   
  
Pete peeks through the foliage seconds later. "Hey, hey, Patrick! What  _are_  you up to?"  
  
"Stuck," Patrick says and makes a show of wiggling his trapped leg as much as he can. All the jerking's starting to hurt, and it's probably going to leave a bruise.  
  
"Lemme see." Pete bends down by Patrick's feet in no time, sloshing around the pool of mud carelessly. Pete's fingers slip into Patrick's shoe, wriggle a little, and Patrick's foot is loose. Wet, but free. Patrick stretches his foot a bit, and debates walking around with a wet sock vs. exposing his bare foot to rocks, and sticks, and insects he's seen in textbooks.   
  
Pete's already back up, Patrick's dead shoe in hand, almost running off in the same direction he came from. Patrick doesn't have much choice but to leave the sock on, and hurry after what he can see of Pete's blurry figure, as he disappears. They should have worn bright colors.   
  
Patrick focuses on the crisp sound of branches and leaves giving way, trying to distract himself of the blooming tenderness in his ankle. Their speed seems to be decreasing, which seems like a small blessing until Patrick notices that Pete's sniffing.   
  
Patrick doesn't have to sniff to smell the burnt wood. It's not that strong, but definitely tangible, and smell thickens the further they walk. The smell isn't fresh, and there's no smoke to be seen, but Pete looks alarmed which really can not be that good.  
  
  
  
"Well, fuck," Pete says, stopping in front of what Patrick guesses used to be a small cabin. It looks like the someone used the small skeleton for a barbecue. A big barbecue. "Good thing we have sleeping bags, huh," Pete says, shrugging off his backpack and heading towards the blackened stairs leading up to the doorless shell.  
  
"You have got to be kidding me. That's not safe."  
  
"Well it's not like it's going to burst into flames again."  
  
"There's no roof. There are no  _doors_ ," Patrick says bitterly. Pete's juggling with his completely ruined shoe and he wants them to sleep in the remains of a fire. Patrick's ankle hurts, and his bag is feeling heavy and camping really fucking sucks. Of all the things he could be doing on a Friday night --   
  
"C'mon, it'll make for a great story for the grandkids, 'This one time Pete took me camping and it turned out the shack we were supposed to crash in burned down --'"  
  
"The amount of thought you've put into this is frightening."  
  
"'-- and we looked at the stars, because way back then you could actually see the stars if you squinted hard enough and were in the right place, and then! We got attacked by a bear and Pete defended me from it with nothing but a shoe!'" Pete grins and stabs the air with Patrick's sneaker. He only drops it when he starts unfolding his sleeping bag.  
  
"There are  _bears_?"  
  
"I would assume so, why else would there be Chicago bears and cubs? Now come up here and help me out."  
  
Patrick climbs the few stairs, and unfolds his sleeping bag next to the remains of a wall that looks pretty sturdy. If a bear is going attack there is no way Patrick's going to be eaten first.  
  
Pete's already done with his sleeping bag, and he's sitting on the stairs, legs bouncing over the edge, heels tapping the wood rhythmically. It sounds like a bastardized version of a drum beat they'd come up with the day before. His head is tilted back, and he's chewing on something that smells sweet. Red licorice sticks, Patrick sees as he approaches him. He sits next to Pete, and steals the bag of candy.  
  
They stay like that for a while. Pete being silent while no one else is talking is something Patrick's never experienced, and he doesn't want to disturb. Pete leans back, laying down, eyes still fixated on the sky. Patrick lays back too, and follows Pete's line of sight, but he can only see a dark sky. It's more grey than blue, and Patrick can't see any bright dots; there's not even a moon to be seen. Whatever it is Pete's looking at Patrick can't see.  
  
Patrick chews silently on his licorice, and keeps looking up at the block of sky above him. He nudges Pete with the candy bag, but he doesn't seem to notice. Patrick takes this as his cue to observe Pete instead of the color palette above.  
  
Pete shifts a little, and his shirt slips up, revealing a bit of skin, and a thin scar. And okay, it's not like Patrick didn't know Pete had skin and bones, and veins and actual blood inside him. Pete's chest rises, and he just looks so fragile. It's hard to grasp that the contained body next to Patrick is Pete. It looks like him, breathes like him -- heavy and uneven -- smells like him. But there are none of the trademark jitters, and nonsensical ramblings. He looks like he could come apart any second, the faint scar tissue visible proof that Pete isn't as invincible as he makes it seem. If he wanted to, he could lean over and brush up Pete's shirt; see how far the scar goes. He could hurt Pete as easily as Pete could hurt him, and for a second, Patrick's really ashamed that he was ever frightened of Pete, when he clearly should've been frightened  _for_  him.   
  
A headache is slowly materializing behind Patrick's eyes, but he keeps staring at Pete's face, steadily, as the edges of his sight blur more and more.  
  
Pete's eyes snap to Patrick's face. "Hey." Pete frowns a bit, looks a little confused.  
  
Patrick swallows. "What?"  
  
"Your glasses. Didn't you have them on before?" Pete squints, and points to the bridge of Patrick's nose, as if to remind Patrick of where his glasses are supposed to be.  
  
"A greedy pine stole them."  
  
"Fuck." Pete pauses. "I'm sorry," he continues, and it's the first time Patrick hears him apologizing for something he wasn't directly responsible for and caught red-handed doing. "I know how important eyesight is to you."  
  
"Yeah, well. I think I'd rather not see the bear lunging at me before dying anyway." Patrick tries to sound airy, but it comes out sarcastic. He winces at his own tone. Pete doesn't seem to notice, or care, though.  
  
"You're a real trooper, you know that, right?" Pete murmurs, before leaning over and pressing a small kiss to Patrick's forehead. Pete rests his head next to Patrick's, his short hair tickling the corner of Patrick's eyes. Patrick just blinks, silently, and exhales.


End file.
